Page 57 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Then get him back, Reagan. Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t tried already. Look at you and look at her. Where did he even find this girl? Wandering the sales rack at Target?”
I frowned. So much for fitting in.
“You and Beck should have never broken up,” Madison continued. “You two were made for each other. You were in love. Everyone could see it.”
“I . . . messed up, Madison.”
“Haven’t we all? But I’m telling you, he’ll drop his date like that—” She snapped her fingers. “—If you tell him how you feel.”
“You really think so?”
Madison smacked her lips. “I’d bet my trust fund on it.”
Embarrassed and oddly hurt at the idea of Beck dumping me—even though I wasn’t his real girlfriend—I waited in the stall until the girls left. Then I hightailed it out of there and nearly ran into Beck near the bathroom entrance.
“Hey!” He caught my gaze, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about Reagan. He deserved to know she wanted him back. But my mouth—still tingly with the prospect of his lips on mine—said, “Nothing. I just—I’m tired. I think I’m going to head back to the resort.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “You should be with your friends, having fun.”
“I want to make sure you get there safely.”
Such a basic sentiment, yet it fizzled and popped in my belly, making me feel light, bubbly. “Okay, thank you.”
On the way to the resort, we got distracted by colorful souvenir shops. We ducked into one that boasted a variety of kitsch items. An entire aisle was dedicated to Pura Vida shirts.
“I think that’s going to be my new catchphrase,” I teased.
“Pure life?” Beck seemed to mull it over. “I’ll buy you a shirt if you promise to wear it to the office.”
“I’ll wear the shirt to work if you get Pura Vida tattooed between the bands.”
Beck rubbed the skin void of ink. “I would, but I’m saving the space for something else.”
I started to ask him what he planned to put there, but he picked up an oversized shirt that looked like a cartoon print of George of the Jungle’s chest and leopard undies. At the top it read, I survived the jungle.
“This,” he said, smiling wildly. “This is the one.”
I couldn’t help it. I threw my head back and cackled, making the shop owner’s head pop up from his doze. I offered an apologetic wave.
Beck was still looking at the damn shirt. “Can’t wait for the hike tomorrow so I can come back and buy this treasure.”
“Oh!” He hadn’t been with us at the beach when we’d changed plans. “About that. The group had so much fun with Jerry that they paid for him to take us to a different alcove tomorrow.”
Beck’s eyebrows scrunched. “Who the hell is Jerry?”
“He’s the captain of the boat we rode on today. He’s a little bristly, but that’s part of his charm.”
“Oh.” Beck’s head dipped as he put the shirt back on the shelf. “And everyone wants to go?”
“I thought you would be happy. You were too tired for the beach today. Now you get another chance tomorrow.”
Beck scratched the back of his head as he headed down an aisle of shot glasses. “I’m just not really a beach kind of guy.”
“But . . . you love to swim.”
